He regrets the words immediately. The last thing he wants to do is give Kazia ideas. But Kazia just stares like Lucien is stupid. “Do you have a fetish or something?”
“Not for that, at least, Your Highness.”
Kazia just rolls his eyes and sits down. A herald in lavender livery sets a box next to his plate. Lucien tenses on reflex, but this box doesn’t appear to hold any new torments. Just letters, paper, and pen. Kazia unseals a scroll, flattens it out with his water glass, and reads as he eats.
Lucien regards his plate with some trepidation, but pragmatism wins out. Starvation will kill him just as well as poison. Besides, poisoning him seems a waste when Kazia went through so much effort to acquire him.
The first bite of roast chicken is a different shock—it’s delicious. The meat melts in his mouth. Lucien’s plate appears to hold the same meal as Kazia’s, rather than the gruel he expected.
Kazia probably just hadn’t thought of that yet. Barely picking at his own meal, he’s preoccupied with the contents of the letter box. It’s Lucien’s first chance to observe Kazia without being observed in return. Kazia reads through each letter with careful deliberation. Something about the depth of his concentration reminds Lucien of Audric, who looks much the same focused on his work.
Only in expression. Kazia is far too tiny, angry, and purple. Given the same opportunities, Audric would never mistreat a Draskoran prisoner. Audric doesn’t even condescend to servants, which most nobles do without noticing.
Though the herald doesn’t seem afraid of Kazia. If anything, she looks concerned. She’s the same dark-haired woman who fetched the obedience collar, with part-Fellrian features thatremind Lucien of Rakos Tem. She steps up to take the letter box when Kazia closes it.
“Your Highness, did you still want me to take time off?” she asks. “I can visit family another time.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Kazia’s gaze cuts towards Lucien. “New orders, Commander. Don’t repeat, describe, or otherwise convey anything I say to anyone else. Don’t convey this conversation to anyone else.”
Lucien gestures with his fork. “I didn’t want to until you told me not to.”
“Eat your fucking lunch,” Kazia snaps, dropping his own fork. He stares at Lucien another moment, then turns to his herald, his voice more controlled. “Nothing important has changed. Give me that again. I need to write something else.”
He shoves his plate aside and scribbles on a piece of paper. After the herald leaves with it, Kazia resumes picking at his food—now watching Lucien with the same intense focus.
Lucien finishes his meal, resenting the order to eat when he already was. Then the previous order, which forces him to set his utensils down the moment his plate is clear. Lucien tries to pick the fork up again. His arm fails to respond to his thoughts.
Kazia still watches.
“Like what you see?” Lucien stretches out. “I assume that’s why you’re staring.”
Kazia leans his chin in his hand. “Why didn’t Father torture you?”
The question is reassuring—though Kazia probably didn’t mean it that way. It’s a reminder of the only things Lucien still has control of: his thoughts.
His secrets.
“I have an enchantment that counters your truth compulsions,” Lucien says. “So don’t get any ideas. It won’t fucking work.”
Kazia’s lips tighten. “They’re notmycompulsions. I thought Silaisans hated blood magic.”
“Sure we do,” Lucien says easily. “But there’s blood magic, and there’sblood magic.”
Healing, protection, coercion, destruction. Anything that influences the human body falls under the same label. A healer can tear open a vein as easily as knitting it closed. After House Sandry overthrew the previous dynasty, almost all blood magic was banned in Silaise. The prohibition was too drastic. The past two generations have gradually carved out exceptions.
Lucien doesn’t give a shit about the theoretical categorizations. Any type of magic can be used for good. Any type of magic can kill. Like Lucien’s own flames, and House Dire’s storms.
“How progressive.” Kazia taps his water glass. He seems to fidget a lot. “Why didn’t Father torture you anyway?”
Lucien’s still trying to figure that out. He wouldn’t mind Kazia placing a higher value on his wellbeing too, though. “I may have been born in a pigsty, but I have some important friends. Remind me to tell you how I introduced Audric to his husband. He fucking owes me.”
Kazia rolls his eyes. “Please. You can’t have believed Father’s bullshit about negotiations. He doesn’t want anything Margot would offer for you.”
Lucien’s stomach clenches. The insight cuts sharper than Lucien expected, reminding Lucien not just of Audric this time but of Queen Margot herself. The Sandry queen and her heir have a knack for weighing the value of people.
Imrik Dire wants Silaisan territory, scalestone, and dragons. None of which Margot would trade for Lucien’s life.
Lucien should worry what that means for himself. But all he can think about is his home and friends, far across the churning border.
